


pretty boys and coffee shops

by bystander



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, coffee shop AU, i overuse cafe settings sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:15:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7312975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bystander/pseuds/bystander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama is an idiot, and really, Oikawa's just there to laugh at him. Or, you know, he would be there if he would ever willingly come within five meters of Kageyama Tobio. Which he never, ever, will.</p><p>Also, Kuroo has awful hair and Oikawa's just trying to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oikawa tooru is a good person that did not sign up for this

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled "@kageyama tobio: why are you like this" or better yet, "oikawa tooru is the kind of person that would pay a billion dollar fine entirely in pennies out of sheer pettiness"

Last month, as Oikawa was on shift as barista at Aoba Johsai, (or, as the regulars fondly called it when they could open their eyes for longer than two seconds, Seijoh) Kageyama Tobio walks in for the first time.

He looks like death. His hair is tangled and unruly, his eyes bloodshot and skin a sickly pallor. The thing that stands out the most, however, was the permeating air of anger he’d carried around with him, one that expressed quite clearly that he could probably murder somebody if they looked at him the wrong way.

He orders an extra large coffee and does not specify what he wants. Looking for all the world like he might collapse right there on the floor, he slips a 1000 yen note on the counter and slinks off to a seat.

Kunimi, who’d been his cashier at the time, is not fazed. He inputs Trenta black coffee into the cash register, and labels the order as Idiot. As he pockets the change, he calls out the order dispiritedly for Oikawa to make, then promptly starts with the next customer.

Oikawa thinks that a person that would order such a shitty drink must be a huge pain in the ass. He hadn’t even stood at the counter to get his coffee, he’d just gone ahead and sat down. By the look of him, he most likely is half asleep too.

Oikawa makes his way to the table in the far back. He raps his knuckles on the slightly stained wooden table. “Coffee for Idiot.”

Idiot does not move immediately. Oikawa thinks the guy is just going to slump there facedown, unresponsive, so he is going to go ahead and place the cup down when a hand fumbles out from the folds of the other’s sweatshirt and grasps unsteadily at air.

It’d be a pain if the guy spills the drink, which is looking especially likely with the feeble grabbing at nothing and not even looking what at, so Oikawa says, “I’m just going to put this here.”

Idiot looks up at last, and it occurs to Oikawa he’s sort of cute. His hair is jet black, his clothes look soft and rumpled, and the sharp cut of his eyes and mouth would be endearing if Idiot didn’t look like he just came straight out of hell.

In all he looks like an angry cat. Oikawa’s never been fond of animals.

“Mrrgmhh,” says Idiot. He rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“I’m just going to stay here until you finish your drink,” Oikawa says. In case you decide to knock it all over the floor, he doesn’t say, because he is not lauded as amazing at customer service for nothing. He pulls out a chair. It’s not that busy today either, so Kindaichi could pick up the slack. Kunimi would not mind either.

Kunimi does not mind most things, on account that he lost his soul somewhere between the ages of five and six. If someone came to shoot up the cafe right now Kunimi is probably going to hide in the staff room and play Neko Atsume or look over his notes.

It’s actually pretty terrifying so Oikawa decides not to dwell on it for now.

Idiot is staring a hole through his cup with a single minded focus usually reserved for volleyball matches and finals week. It is neither. It is a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of September at 3 PM in a quiet coffee shop. Which begs the question why Idiot is in such a state in the first place, but Oikawa is not going to pry.

“Accidentally played volleyball for two days,” Idiot mumbles as answer to the question Oikawa did not ask.

What the fuck, Oikawa thinks, and then Idiot starts chugging the coffee.

What the fuck, Oikawa thinks again, because the stuff is straight black and still hot.

Oikawa watches in morbid fascination as Idiot’s throat bobs up and down, and every gulp is loud and audible.

“What the fuck,” Oikawa says, out loud this time, because this guy actually finished drinking black coffee out of a Trenta in one sitting. That size was only supposed to be for iced drinks in the first place.

Kunimi really did not mind most things.

“That was good,” Idiot says. He looks alert already, and he’s starting to fidget. He drums his fingers on the tabletop. The air around him clears up. Atmosphere-wise, because the guy still stunk of sweat. “That was good coffee.”

“That was straight black,” Oikawa says in disbelief. “It had like thirty-one ounces of caffeine.”

Idiot smiles, carding his hair back with his fingers. Oikawa briefly wonders how someone who looks like shit could still look good. “That’s the best kind.”

Oikawa gingerly picks up the cup. It’s empty. “So, you know,” he says. “Seeing how you’re going to die soon and everything, could you get out of the shop? I’m not sure how to handle a corpse.”

Idiot blinks. “I’m not going to die, though? I mean, it’s just coffee.”

Oikawa rubs the bridge of his nose. “You realize that if a person ingests a certain amount of caffeine, they will die, right? I’m pretty sure you went over the limit just now.”

Idiot stares uncomprehendingly. “It’s just coffee,” he repeats.

It seems Idiot is not an idiot just in name. “You said that you played volleyball for two days.” Oikawa’s not sure how that’s all possible, considering volleyball is a fairly strenuous sport and to go so long without sleep with that much exercise is impossible. “Did you rest or eat at all? The effects are going to be worse if you didn’t.”

Idiot is giving that blank look again.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Oikawa gets up from his seat and backs away. “I’m going to be back in a bit.”

When he reaches the register, he hisses, “Kunimi. Idiot is going to die. He drank the entire damn cup in like two minutes. This is why we don’t serve coffee in that size!”

Kunimi nods listlessly. “Shame,” he says, fingers sliding around his phone screen.

“Kuuuunnniiiiimiiii,” Oikawa whines. “If he dies in our shop, who is going to take care of the body? What if you get fired for breaking regulations too?”

Kunimi levels him with a stare. “Call the police,” he says calmly. “And if I get fired, I’m going to buy alcohol and celebrate.”

“Kuuunniiimmmiiii—”

“Oikawa-senpai?” says Kindaichi hesitantly. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Of course—” Oikawa stops. “Get him out of the cafe so there’s not going to be a dead person in here?” he suggests uncertainly.

“Are we allowed to eject him off the premises? He hasn’t really done anything,” Kindaichi reasons.

“You,” Oikawa says. “Are right. Kunimi, what do we doooo?”

Kunimi still does not look up from his phone. “What did I just say,” he responds. And then, smoothly ejecting himself from the conversation, “Hello, what would you like to order.”

“We can’t just call the police on him!” Oikawa screeches under his breath.

Kindaichi starts on a s’mores frappuccino. “Just do whatever you need to, senpai,” he says. “I’ll cover you if you need it.”

“Thank you, Kindaichi,” he says distractedly. “I think the guy left already, though.”

“That’s great, then,” Kindaichi replies, and that’s that.

 

That is not that. Idiot had just gone to the restroom (no wonder, with all the liquid he guzzled) and is now back in a seat.

Oikawa gives a long-suffering sigh. “I’m going after all, thanks for the hard work, goodbye.”

Idiot is watching him when he sidles back into a chair. “Hello, Idiot,” Oikawa says.

Idiot bristles, seeming to finally register the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

“That’s what’s written as the name for your order,” Oikawa explains. He sniffs. “What am I supposed to call you when you leave before they ask for your name?”

“Kageyama Tobio,” says Kageyama, and the name suits him exactly. It’s the kind of name that goes perfectly with brooding idiot losers with no sense of self-preservation.

That also happen to be cute, apparently, even cuter now that he cleaned himself up some in the restroom. His face looks fresher, give or take the heavy eyebags, tinged just the tiniest bit pink and his hair somehow tamed itself into a hairstyle that frames his face neatly in the span of three minutes.

“So anyway, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, and Kageyama’s face twists into something unpleasant before settling into a scowl. “How have you lived your entire life without dropping dead even once? Considering how little you seem to care for it, I mean.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kageyama says gruffly. He rubs his eye again. “And aren’t you supposed to tell me your name too?”

“Real master of social etiquette, aren’t you,” Oikawa says. “That’s usually what happens when somebody introduces themselves, yes.”

Kageyama waits expectantly for a name, and the crease between his eyebrows deepens when a minute goes by with nothing. “Aren’t you going to tell me?” he asks expectantly.

Oikawa sees the opportunity, and he takes it. “I could,” he says. “But why don’t we go to the park and get some air.”

Kageyama squints in suspicion. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Oikawa chokes on his spit. Kageyama watches in mild concern as Oikawa regains his breath. “No,” he wheezes singularly. “Absolutely not. I just feel bad for the boy that is probably this close to keeling over.” Oikawa presses his thumb and forefinger together.

“But there’s no space between them at all,” Kageyama says in puzzlement.

“That’s the point,” Oikawa says with dignity. “Now let’s go before we have a crime scene on our hands and Kunimi possibly gets arrested.”

Kageyama gets up, dusts the front of his black exercise shorts, still not looking like he knows quite what’s going on.

“Give me a bit.” Oikawa unties his work apron, folds it up, and stores it in the staff room. “Thanks for covering me, Kindaichi-kun,” he says quickly before walking out, black haired menace in tow.

“He leaves his job to go on a date,” says Kunimi dispassionately when they’re gone. “Of course.”

 

“So you just kept on playing,” Oikawa says evenly. “You realized you were hungry and tired but it didn’t occur to you it’d be a good time to stop.”

Kageyama nods. “Usually I have a partner that helps me keep time,” he says. “His name’s Hinata. He had something to do today.” He purses his lips. “I mean, two days ago.”

“Are you even real,” Oikawa says. “Not even I’m that thick. You’re a volleyball idiot.”

They’re on a park bench, about half a foot of space between them. They’d stopped at a nearby convenience store earlier. Oikawa’d got a popsicle and Kageyama got a carton of milk he is sipping angrily for no particular reason.

“Why milk, of all things,” Oikawa had asked incredulously.

Kageyama looked at him like he’d punched somebody’s grandmother and stole her life savings. “Why anything else?” he’d asked, with genuine bewilderment. Oikawa was slightly amused by how someone could be so devoted to a beverage that tasted like ass.

Oikawa patted Kageyama’s back heavily. “Never change, Tobio-chan. Never change.”

“I collapsed from hunger and heat and exhaustion,” Kageyama tells him. “Otherwise I think I would’ve kept going.”

“Then shouldn’t you be having something more filling than just milk and coffee?” Oikawa says, licking a stripe around his popsicle.

Kageyama looks affronted, and sucks on his straw more insistently. “Milk’s got all the sustenance a person would ever need,” he says aggressively.

“Tobio-chan, no,” Oikawa says. “You’re going to faint again.”

But they don’t move to get something to eat, instead idly watching screaming children play on the playground equipment while their mothers chat quietly to the side.

“Iwa-chan would yell at me if he knew I was skipping work to sit at a bench and do nothing,” Oikawa says suddenly.

“Who’s Iwa-chan,” says Kageyama.

“Who is Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa. “Well. He’s. Iwa-chan.” And then he launches into a lengthy and descriptive explanation of who Iwa-chan is, the role he plays in Oikawa’s life, the adorable little quirks he has, the woes of his dating life (woes being nonexistent seeing as there is no dating life to be had), how his features look in particular types of clothing, etc.

Kageyama contemplates the stream of information washing over him. “You guys are really good friends, huh,” he says meditatively, squeezing out the last dregs of his milk box.

“Of course!” Oikawa says proudly. “We’ve known each other before we could talk!”

“That sounds really nice.” Kageyama drops his milk box in a trash can that is conveniently only two feet away from the bench. “You guys sound like you care about each other a lot.”

“We do—WOAH WAIT TOBIO-CHAN WHAT THE FUCK.”

Kageyama is curled into a fetal position on the concrete sidewalk and crying. “Where’s my volleyball,” he whimpers. “Where did it go. I had it just now.”

Oikawa stays on the bench and watches uncomfortably. Iwa-chan was right, he reflects. You really do have a breakdown if you don’t take care of your body.

Not that he was going to stop doing so, but the confirmation makes him consider perhaps making time for one more hour of sleep in his schedule. “Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, trying to placate him. He bites a piece off his ice pop. “Could you stop that? People think I’m associated with you. This is embarrassing.”

The children playing are watching them curiously now, and the mothers are giving him a disapproving look for cursing with kids present.

A group of four children, no older than ten, approach them. A little girl speaks. “Hey, mister. How come he’s crying? He’s a grownup, isn’t he?”

“Sometimes grownups need to cry,” Oikawa says patiently. At this point he very much wants to go home. “He’s just sad because he lost his volleyball.”

Kageyama lets loose a especially loud wail.

The children congregate in a huddle and have a conference.

“Should we help him?”

“We’re not supposed to go with strangers?”

“Isn’t he really pitiful though?”

Discussion of that sort goes on for about thirty seconds, and then the little girl who’d spoken earlier says, “We can help him find it, if you want.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Oikawa starts to say, but Kageyama peeks his head out from his sweatshirt. “Really?” he wobbles.

Oh boy, Oikawa thinks. This guy is really not in his right mind.

“Of course!” chorus the children.

Oikawa sighs. “Thank you,” he tells them. Then he looks down at the shaking mass of adult on the floor. “Well, then, Tobio-chan. Where did you leave it last?”

“The volleyball courts near here,” Kageyama mumbles.

“Well then,” Oikawa says. “Let’s go, kids.”

“Are we just going to leave him there?” asks one of the nicer ones.

Oikawa looks at him heavily. “Do _you_  want to deal with him?”

The boy shakes his head frantically. The rest do the same.

“Off we go, then.”

 

When they get there, a fourteen year old boy with bright orange hair is running around the court area in a panic.

Oh look. Another nuisance to deal with. Oikawa sighs once again.

“Hello, little boy,” Oikawa makes himself say. “What’s wrong?”

Sunshine turns around and huffs. “I am not a little boy!” he protests. “I’m twenty years old!”

“That’s very nice, little boy. Do you need someone to guide you to a police box?”

Yuki, Oikawa learned her name was, steps forward. “I know where it is,” she offers. “I can take you there if you want. It’s okay. I got lost loads of time when I was younger, too.”

Sunshine looks conflicted. A middle schooler had their pride, Oikawa supposed, and being treated as a lost child by a kid even younger than him had to sting. “I’m not lost,” he says nicely. “My friend is, though. His name is Kageyama Tobio. He looks angry all the time and his face is really scary. And his eyes are slanted.” Sunshine acts out his descriptions, making the scariest face he can (which made him look like a kid on Halloween) and stretching out his eyes. “Have you seen him? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since yesterday.”

“What’s your name?” asks Kenta. What a nice boy. Why couldn’t Takeru be nice like this anymore?

“Hinata Shouyou,” says Sunshine.

Oh. Ohhhhh. “If you’re talking about Tobio-chan, he’s crying on the ground in the park a block over,” says Oikawa.

Sunshine looks alarmed. “What? Why?”

Subaru explains the situation, and Hinata listens attentively. “Bakegayama,” he mumbles. “He beat my record.”

Is that the first thing you’re worried about, Oikawa wants to say. Why would you compete over nearly killing yourselves.

Hinata salutes. “Thanks, guys! I’m gonna go get him.” He dashes away as fast as his little legs can carry him, which is actually impressively fast.

“He’s like a jumping bean,” Yuki observes. The kids murmur assent.

 

Forty five minutes later, they find the missing ball in the middle of a bush about ten meters from the court and make their way back to the park. They’re greeted by Sunshine looking terrified and unprepared to handle Kageyama, who is now just sulking.

When Kageyama sees his volleyball, his eyes glint with something unholy. The kids present learn exactly what Sunshine had meant when he said Kageyama had a scary face.

“U-um,” says Aoi weakly. “H-here.”

Kageyama glares, takes the proffered ball, and inspects it. When he verifies that the ball is indeed his, his features melt into something gooey and he smiles. “Thanks,” he says.

The children’s eyes sparkle. Sunshine looks even more terrified now. “Then, I,” he squeaks. “Am going to take him home now, thanks for the help.” He drags Kageyama over his shoulder and sprints away.

“Bye, Tobio-chan,” calls Oikawa to the blob of orange and the sweaty sweatshirt slung on him.

“BYE TOBIO-CHAN!” yell the kids.

Oikawa thinks he sees Kageyama’s hand attempt to wave, but it could just be that he’s getting jostled around too roughly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does kageyama go for coffee when he could get milk? the answer is that he was not thinking straight and he knows coffee wakes people up. this was his first time trying it, actually. he thinks black is best because he's only ever had black. i don't think he's a very picky eater


	2. oikawa-san did not sign up for this either and he is seething

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petty? Oikawa? Not a chance in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my hand slipped and it turned out maybe a little gayer than i'd thought it would
> 
> BUT! i got super pumped by the comments and kudos and so i wanted to update as fast as possible. this is so nice guys thanks
> 
> for the record i have no idea where the story is going i'm writing it as it comes

“Oikawa,” says Iwaizumi. He’s sitting cross-legged in his sweats, balancing a textbook over his lap. 

“Yes?” Oikawa hums, twirling a pen deftly over-under his fingers.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” lies Oikawa, his torso crushed between the weight of the cushion of the bed and the outline of Iwaizumi’s ass he doesn’t even need to concentrate to immerse himself in. “Why would I enjoy being pressed down until it’s hard to breathe?”

“Is that so,” says Iwaizumi. He sounds vaguely put off, like there’s something he can’t pin down. “Then next time don’t eat my ice cream. That was the last of the tub, and I remember specifically telling you I was saving it for the weekend.”

“I’ll never do it again, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa as sincerely as he can manage, but the lilt of comes out a few shades too serious and there’s a smug pull of satisfaction at his mouth. 

“Of course you won’t,” Iwaizumi grumbles as he flips a page.

“Or what, are you going to sit on my face next time,” Oikawa snarks, but even as he says it he realizes that he’s actually not that averse to the idea. Or at all, really. 

“No,” says Iwaizumi deliberately. He adjusts the glasses on his nose and Oikawa melts, just a little bit. “But I _am_ going to tell okaa-san that you haven’t been eating your vegetables.”

Oikawa gasps in betrayal. “Iwa-chan, you _wouldn’t._ ”

“Try me,” he says, and then he’s silent for the span of a few seconds before his voice drops to something rougher. “Hey. Are you doing okay? You seem a little tired.”

Oikawa smiles. “Iwa-chan,” he says. “Are you my mom?”

Iwaizumi shuts his eyes, breathes in, and kicks him off the bed. 

“Die,” he says to the hunken mass of alien onesie on the floor.

 “Meeeeaaan,” Oikawa whines. “If you thought I was tired, couldn’t you have been nicer to me? Like ‘Yes, Oikawa-san, let me clean your house for you’ or ‘Do you want to cuddle, Oikawa-san? I heard it makes you feel better.’”

 “Now you’re just talking out of your ass,” Iwaizumi informs him. “When have I ever said anything like that in my entire life?”

 “Meeeeaaannn, so mean, Iwa-chan, you big brute.” But Oikawa’s climbing back onto the bed, latching himself firmly around Iwaizumi’s back. “I actually want to cuddle, though.”

 Iwaizumi’s all broad shoulders and tan skin and something like the flop on a bed after a long day. Please let me stay here, Oikawa says without actually saying it to the wall of Iwaizumi’s back, because the truth of the matter is he _is_ a little exhausted between juggling volleyball and work and uni. Even if he’s too stubborn to admit as much out loud.

 “How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re hanging off me like a koala,” Iwaizumi says, annoyance lacing the rumble of his voice through his chest, but he doesn’t make any effort to prise Oikawa’s fingers off his arm and resolutely scribbles some notes in the margins of his textbook. “And buy me another tub of neapolitan.”

Oikawa nuzzles his face into the dark of Iwaizumi’s T-shirt in reply. 

 

 

 

 

“Ohoho,” says Hanamaki the next day at work when Oikawa walks in the back door. “You look happy. Did you finally get it on with Iwaizumi?”

“That’s uncouth and vile,” Oikawa tells him, shutting the door behind him. “I don’t need to think about having sex with Iwa-chan at this time of day.”

“Yeah, save that stuff for when it gets dark,” says Matsukawa, leering over the the edge of a chair and offering a suggestive smile.

“Shut up, Mattsun,” Oikawa huffs, pulling his work apron over his head. “You probably think about it more than I do, anyway.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” says Matsukawa. Hanamaki nods in solemn agreement. Oikawa makes a face. “But you do think about it, then?”

“We already knew _that_ ,” Hanamaki smirks. “If he didn’t he’d have to be the straighter than a wooden ruler. And some straight boys have a crush on Iwaizumi too, in any case.” He pauses, making an expression that would most likely get him questioned by the police were he to do it in public. “I mean, have you seen his ass.”

“I was very intimate with his ass last night,” Oikawa informs him. “I do not need a reminder.”

Matsukawa wolf-whistles. “Are you gonna give us details, or what.”

“Since you two were trying to defile Oikawa-san’s innocent ears, no.”

“Booorring,” Hanamaki says, plopping his head on the armrest of a sofa. “But we have something we wanna talk about, anyway. Tell him, Matsukawa.”

“Right,” he says. “Kunimi tells me you went on a date yesterday and left poor Kindaichi by himself for a few hours.”

“It wasn’t that busy,” Oikawa protests, but Matsukawa starts clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “And it was absolutely necessary, Kindaichi could tell you, we would’ve had a death on our hands!”

“Is that right,” Hanamaki says. “Or were you just exaggerating things to go skip work and have fun cheating on Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa clucks indignantly. “I was not! We’re not even dating in the first place! What exactly did Kunimi tell you to have you slandering me this way!”

“As if we need an excuse to slander you,” Hanamaki snickers, and Matsukawa does the same. “But he basically said you were overreacting when some guy drank too much coffee and dragged him out on a date.” He snorts. “The way he was talking, I think Kunimi really considers you scum, you know.”

Scrunching his face up in something of a grimace, Oikawa says, “Impossible. All my kouhai respect and admire me.”

“Yahaba, sure,” says Matsukawa reasonably. “Kindaichi maybe, Kyoutani and Kunimi definitely not. Waking up to reality after deluding yourself for so long is difficult, I realize, but please try for our sakes. Watching you is kind of pitiful.”

“Mean!” 

“Anyway, our shift is starting soon. We should head out to the front.”

And things go relatively smoothly, with his friends only teasing him about what they talked about in the staff room only around ten times. Oikawa is, for all intents and purposes, very nearly relaxed, caught up in the comfortable rhythm of work. He’s considering going back to the bakery to maybe take a cookie if Kyoutani wouldn’t mind (he would, but Oikawa can _smell_ that just out of the oven haze and he figures a week or two of glares maybe a tad more intense than usual wouldn’t hurt too much) and then.

And then he sees Kageyama Tobio standing in front of the doors of the shop looking constipated and probably debating whether he should go in. 

“Makki,” Oikawa says, as winningly as he can. “I’m going to use the restroom real quick, okay?”

“Okay, I guess,” Hanamaki replies. He writes nano car on the side of a cup Oikawa is almost certain was ordered Nanoka.

And then Oikawa waits in the bathroom, during which he fixes his hair some, scrolls through his social media feeds, fixes his hair some more. When enough time has sufficiently passed, Oikawa steps out of the bathroom, sees Kageyama now at the counter, and hides behind a wall.

“I’m looking for this guy,” Kageyama is saying. “He works here. He looks kind of frivolous but the way he talks is kind of mean.” His scowl is deep set in his face, and he looks like he’s trying to extort Matsukawa of his meager salary.

Matsukawa is not fazed. “We don’t have a guy like that, I don’t think,” he says. “The only ones that work up front are me and Makki, thirsty, a turnip, and dead fish eyes.”

“We do have a guy that’s frivolous,” Hanamaki adds from the espresso machine. “But he’s more pathetic than mean.”

Mean, Oikawa mouths, frowning. So mean. Couldn’t they think of a nicer way to describe him? Beautiful or smart or dashingly handsome or athletic, for instance. Any of them would’ve done, and they choose to sling mud and lies on his good name. Unbelievable.

“And if you’re not going to order anything, then get out of line. There’s somebody behind you.”

Kageyama adopts a menacing glare that would probably have wet the pants of anyone weaker of will than Matsukawa. As is, he only drawls, “Well?” and raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Trenta black, then,” Kageyama says, and then Oikawa leaves the safety of the wall because really, this was too much.

“Tobio-chan, no,” he says resignedly, with the air of somebody stepping into a streetful of traffic. “Why do you always want to die.”

“Ah,” says Kageyama, nodding with a strange kind of intensity. “There he is.”

“Oh?” grins Hanamaki. 

“Ohohoho?” inquires Matsukawa.

“Can I just get my coffee,” asks the man behind Kageyama.

 

 

 

 

“Ahhhh, I didn’t know Oikawa-chan had a mean streak,” says Hanamaki after they’re done working.

“Don’t call me that,” says Oikawa.

“You snatched up this cute boy just like that, and then you hide from him,” Matsukawa agrees, shaking his head mournfully.

Kageyama looks like he doesn’t know quite what’s going on, and so he sips moodily at his coffee.

Looks like that part hasn’t changed, Oikawa notes with ill-placed resentment. Drink your coffee, Tobio-chan, and I hope a bird shits on you on your way home.

“Speaking of which, how did you get that impression of him, Kageyama?” Hanamaki says, grinning like he’s gotten his hands on a particularly good piece of meat in a hotpot. “Oikawa-chan’s always been a kind soul, always the epitome of virtue.”

“Eat shit, Makki,” says Oikawa.

Kageyama opens his mouth, closes it, repeats the cycle another five times. Is this the kind of person you are when you’re sober, Oikawa thinks vindictively. Goddamn fish.

“Goddamn fish,” Oikawa says.

 Kageyama’s mouth stays decidedly open. “Don’t call me that.” The mushroom cloud of darkness about his head grows acutely more suffocating in angry waves.

“Goddamn fish,” Oikawa says again, just to be contrary, and he takes satisfaction in seeing Kageyama glare. “So. What did you come for, then.”

Kageyama mumbles something under his breath. 

“What was that Tobio-chan, I didn’t hear you." 

The mumbling gets louder.

“If you’re not going to say anything, I’m going to leave,” says Oikawa, enjoying the flush making its way up Kageyama’s neck. Nobody ever accused Oikawa of being kind.

“No, you’re not,” says Hanamaki. Nobody every accused Hanamaki of being tactful, either.

“I said I wanted to thank you for finding my volleyball the other day,” Kageyama grits out, extracting each word from his throat with an excruciating difficulty not unlike the one present in the Operation board game. “And staying with me until Hinata came.” 

“ _Oikawa_ ,” interrupts Matsukawa, cheeks split so wide Oikawa wishes his face would get wrinkles early from the effort. “I didn’t know he was your date.”

“It was not a date,” he’s saying, but Matsukawa and Hanamaki are hooting loudly and the other patrons of the fast food joint are giving them dirty looks.

“And here we thought,” says Hanamaki, wiping away a tear, “that you’d never get over your crush on Iwaizumi and pine for the rest of your life. Nice going, Oikawa.”

“He’s all grown up, now,” says Matsukawa, stroking his chin in an imitation of a wise old grandmaster that would never do things like send dusty five year old memes at four in the morning. “Soon he won’t even ask for balloons when he goes to the doctor’s office.”

“That was one time,” Oikawa hisses.

“Is Iwaizumi the Iwa-chan you were talking about?” Kageyama offers thoughtfully. “I don’t remember the details, but you went on about him for a while, I think.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa abruptly stop talking. They look at Oikawa. 

“What,” he says.

“Did you hear that,” whispers Hanamaki conspiratorially. “He doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.”

“What happened to smooth Oikawa-chan that got all the girls,” Matsukawa whispers in contempt.

“Not you too, Mattsun,” Oikawa groans, burying his face in his arms.

“Can you believe that Oikawa Tooru, who has composed no less than seven essays on why we’d be alone and single our whole lives, talked about his crush at length on a first date,” says Matsukawa. “Can you say faux pas or what.”

“Faux pas,” says Kageyama.

“Oh my god,” says Matsukawa.

“ _It wasn’t a date_ ,” Oikawa whisper-screams to his plate of potato fries in agony.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki are unperturbed. They somehow get Kageyama to give them the basic outline on what happened on the date (“Makki, I _swear to god—”)_ which they understood surprisingly well, given Kageyama had for the most part communicated in brusque comments and seemingly random fragments of sentences. Oikawa, to his credit, did not try to interrupt but sat with an air of long-suffering so patently obnoxious he’s sure Iwaizumi picked it up like a signal some miles away.

Hanamaki takes a bite of his burger meditatively.

“What did I tell you, Makki,” says Oikawa, not quite smug, because he is too burned out for smug, but something very near it. “I told you nothing happened.”

His pair of tormentors exchange glances. “Okay, so you’re not going out,” says Matsukawa. “Hey, Kageyama. _Would_ you go out with this guy?”

Oikawa groans. “Are you two never going to give up?”

“But you’re such an easy target,” Hanamaki reasons. He waggles his eyebrows. “It would be practically sinful to leave you be when you’re so full of openings.”

“I wouldn’t, I think,” says Kageyama, and then Oikawa whips his head around so fast his neck cracks.

“Now, now, Tobio-chan,” he says sweetly, zero to sixty like whiplash. “What does _that_ mean?” 

To be clear, it’s not as though Oikawa wants to date Kageyama. Far from it. In fact, Oikawa would rather go without hair product for a day than to see Kageyama ever again, with how interactions with Kageyama are going so far. But, as it stands, Kageyama Tobio, who Oikawa had helped out in a crisis, towards whom Oikawa had been nothing but kind to, had implied he’d be something other than absolutely pleased to be in Oikawa’s company. 

And really, if Oikawa had something in abundance other that his looks, it was pride.

Kageyama, ever intent to add fuel to the fire, furrows his brows. “Nothing, really. You’re just kind of hard for me to deal with.”

Ohohoho, so now the shit was trying to undermine his character.

“Excuse me,” Oikawa says, still smiling. “But where exactly do you think you get off? Why do I have to hear this from a bag of soggy microwave chicken nuggets?”

“Oh shit,” Matsukawa intones in biting amusement.

Kageyama is puzzled, but in an increasingly agitated way that belies his poorly hidden intent to fight. “But you asked me why? I don’t understand. What did you want me to say?”

“You’ll never know, because by the time I get around to answering you’ll be drowning in a vat of kerosene and lit on fire,” says Oikawa sunnily.

“As much as I’d like to watch Oikawa cry over his rejection some more,” interrupts Hanamaki, “I’ve got an essay due tomorrow. I gotta go.”

“Then I’ll go too,” says Matsukawa. Oikawa’s not looking to spend any alone time with the blueberry turd either, so he gets up to go with the other two. 

“Good riddance, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says spitefully from the door after he’s left his tip. Kageyama blinks owlishly, looking confused as to how he ended up sitting alone. “I hope the next box of milk you drink is spoiled and gives you an awful stomachache.”

And then he shuts the door with a vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dramatic, much?" grins Matsukawa.
> 
> "I was trying to make a point—Makki, stop laughing."


	3. if there's such a thing as constants in this world, it's that kuroo tetsurou will forever be a massive dork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kudos and comments they're so nice i reread all of them an embarrassing amount of times  
> i did not edit this At All i just wanted to have it out

"I've an idea," says Kuroo. "You are going to go up to the blonde telephone pole with glasses and ask him what he thinks of the hot guy with the plaid sweater on the counter."

"Why should I do that?" Oikawa asks, amused. "He's going to say he thinks you have bad hair, and after you get shot down you're going to mope for the rest of the night." Privately Oikawa thinks Kuroo's hair looks kind of cute, after his initial impression that maybe a storm hit Tokyo when he wasn't looking.

He decides not to share this sentiment.

"This is an awful date," Tooru complains instead. "Why you thought it would be a good idea to bring me to my workplace, I have no idea."

"Only the best for my boyfriend," drawls Kuroo, with that ever-present catlike half-smile. Honestly, thinks Oikawa in mild irritation, why can this guy so hard to read. "And anyway, you get an employee discount, so isn't this fine?"

"Awful," says Oikawa. "You've got no idea how to treat a delicate flower like me."

"I've seen your jump serves, Oikawa, you're not fooling anyone," says Kuroo serenely. Then, from seemingly nowhere, “Dude, so like me and Bokuto were bored the other day right, and so I get the amazing idea to go to a bounce house place. Mostly there were like ten year olds, which was pretty cool—did you know this one kid said they’d never seen Mean Girls, I was about to kidnap him and force him to watch the movie—but anyway there was also a ball pit, where we found this corner where kids scribbled on with Sharpie. Luckily there was one on the floor, and we wanted to leave our legacy, so we hid in the ball pit for a while and I wrote the entire Bee Movie script, and then I learned that Bokuto drew really good Pepes? And then he told me that he actually went to this workshop thing in Tokyo that taught him how to meme more efficiently—he took a selfie with his team and Akaashi looked like he wanted to drown himself—”

“How did you not get kicked out,” says Oikawa, amused despite himself. “If there’s college-aged boys in a place for young children, some people assume that they’re dangerous, you know.”

Kuroo nods. “And there was a mom who was concerned about us playing with her kid, so she actually called security and Bokuto and me had to put on a play to prove out innocence—”

Talking to Kuroo was nice, Oikawa concludes, because there is something very satisfying about knowing there was someone in this world that was more of a loser than him, especially someone who made you think they were the coolest jerk in existence on first impression. He was a nerd for liking aliens? No, Iwa-chan, did you know that Kuroo Tetsurou likes eggplants and watches documentaries in his free time? You’re both nerds, Oikawa, shut up.

“So, yeah,” says Kuroo when he’s finished with his recounting. “That’s how I learned that wearing a horse face in a public place can be seen as threatening. How’re you?”

“Fine,” says Oikawa. “I’ve got an essay due in English, and it’s absolutely the worst. I’m really trying to care about how Mr. Darcy compares to the average man of that period, I really am, and I’m sure I would, but I’ve been putting it off for two weeks and it’s due on Thursday.”

Kuroo makes a squawk, genuinely indignant. It makes him even more reminiscent of a rooster. “Pride and Prejudice is a masterpiece of American literature! Elizabeth Bennet is one of the foremost examples of self-confident, intelligent heroines even today, and Mr. Darcy in particular demonstrates how—”

“Alright,” says Oikawa after Kuroo bangs the table in emphasis. Kunimi gives him a judging stare from the cashier. “That’s great, you could write the essay for me, how about it.”

Kuroo gives the most somber look Oikawa’s ever seen on his face. “There’s no point unless you understand it yourself,” Kuroo says, shaking his head. “Listening to any more of this is going to make me sad. Just. Tell me something else, please.”

Oikawa’s mind filters the past few days, and then latches onto the most annoying one. “Well,” he says. “I was rejected by a guy I didn’t even confess to, for one thing.”

Kuroo immediately starts laughing, explosive, chest-heaving laughter that leaves him unable to stay upright. “Shut up, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa says moodily. “It’s not that funny. And why are you switching between moods so fast, you’re hanging out too much with Bokuto.”

Kuroo swipes the tears from his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he says, his eyes still twinkling with amusement. “I gotta throw a party for this kid, what’s his name? Does he go to our university? Details, details.”

“His name’s Kageyama Tobio, I don’t know where he goes,” frowns Oikawa. “And that’s all I’m telling you.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “I think I know him,” he says. “Does he have black hair, looks angry all the time, kind of cute? Has an orange puffball called Hinata with him all the time? Kenma’s friends with Hinata, so I’ve met him once or twice.”

“That’s the one,” says Oikawa. “So you know what he’s like, then. You know he’s an incomprehensible shit with no manners and probably got his social intelligence from under a dumpster.”

Kuroo scratches his cheek. “That’s a bit harsh,” he says. “Kageyama’s a good kid. And he’s got good enough taste to reject you, at least. What’d he say, again?”

“I didn’t tell you,” says Oikawa. “But he said, in these exact words, that I was an arrogant idiot who is mean and pretentious and hard to deal with.”

“I highly doubt that,” says Kuroo. “I think he’s got a good heart, if nothing else. One time I left my sweatshirt in his room and went for a walk, and after an hour it turns out he’d been walking around the area the entire time to try to return it to me.”

“Why didn’t he just give it to HInata to give to Kenma to give to you,” says Oikawa.

“Well,” says Kuroo. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“Clearly there wasn’t any thought going on,” says Oikawa.

“I realize you’re bitter from having your maiden heart stomped all over,” Kuroo says. “But he’s not a bad person, okay? He just doesn’t know what to say sometimes. Or how to act. But he tries his best.”

“He tried to kill himself in this very place and afterwards he would’ve tried to blame me for his murder.”

“Really,” says Kuroo. 

“Really,” says Oikawa.

They enter a staring contest, which after a burning three minutes, Kuroo, with his unblinking cat eyes, wins.

“That wasn’t fair,” says Oikawa. “Of course the furry has cat genes, you were cheating.”

“I am not a furry,” says Kuroo, louder than was considered polite. The middle aged man in the corner gives him a strange look. “Cats are too pure and soft for me to fantasize having sex with them.”

“Says the person with an unspecified amount of cat pictures on their phone,” says Oikawa. “Do you even have any storage space anymore?”

“I had to delete a few apps to make room,” says Kuroo. “But that’s besides the point. The point is, you shouldn’t give Kageyama a hard time the next time you see him. He can be abrasive, but he’s not being rude on purpose.”

“Whatever you say,” replies Oikawa patronizingly. “If a dog came and took a dump on your yard, it doesn’t matter what its intentions were. It still took a dump on your yard.”

“We’re in Tokyo,” says Kuroo. “And we live in dorms. None of us have got yards. And if we did, Ushijima would be inviting himself over to plant things.”

“The sentiment still stands, and the day I let Ushiwaka-chan onto my property is the day I die.”

Kuroo smiles in exasperation. “If you’re going to be stubborn about it, then that’s it, I guess.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin, holds his coffee loosely with one hand. “Do you wanna go? I’m done.”

Oikawa downs the rest of his drink, nods. “Yeah, I got it.” They trash their cups and Oikawa winks towards the counter. “Bye guys, don’t miss your senpai too much while he’s gone.”

“Is there even anything to miss,” says Kunimi, and Kindaichi briefly lets a look of panic cross his face when something sharp glints in Oikawa’s eyes. 

“They love me, they really do,” Oikawa tells Kuroo when they’re outside. “Kunimi’s just a tsundere. He’s got so much overflowing affection for me he has to keep it hidden under hurtful words. Like Iwa-chan, probably.”

Kuroo pats Oikawa on the back sympathetically. “It’s amazing just how deluded you are in every part of your life.”

Oikawa shrugs off the other’s hand from his shoulders. “You’ll understand when you’re as beautiful as I am,” assures Oikawa. “Being around me all the time must fill you with unquenchable jealousy, I get it, really, I do. So I’ll let you off this time.”

“My ass,” says Kuroo.

“Is your only redeeming quality,” says Oikawa.

“What,” says Kuroo.

“What,” says Oikawa.

“Did you just say that I had a nice ass.”

“No, Tetsu-chan, your ass is flatter than Daichi’s attempts at humor.”

“Damn, that’s true.”

They walk in companionable chatter until Oikawa suddenly stops in the middle of their way back to their dorm and squints.

“What is it,” Kuroo says.

“I just realized that I need one of those rip n’ dip shirts,” says Oikawa. “How have I been so nearsighted all this time. Why have I never bought one before? I keep forgetting to pick it up. Can you imagine all the times I’ll need it and won’t have it? We need to buy it now. Immediately.”

“Those are those shirts with the cat with the squished face that looks like he hates humanity in the front shirt pocket that flips you off, right,” says Kuroo. “Why can’t you just flip people off yourself? Isn’t that easier?”

“That’s not classy, Tetsu-chan, it looks vulgar.” Kuroo looks at him meaningfully, and, very deliberately, sticks up his middle finger. Oikawa returns the gesture breezily. “But they’re cute and I want them. Especially the alien ones.”

Kuroo considers Oikawa briefly. Oikawa is suddenly unnerved. “Well,” coughs Oikawa. “The train station isn’t far, we can get to the shopping center before five.”

Kuroo stares at him, again, and Oikawa contemplates the merits of throwing dirt in his eyes. He doesn’t, out of the goodness of his heart.

Instead, he takes two steps forward. “Are you coming or not, then?” When Kuroo doesn’t move, Oikawa adds, “You better. Since I basically paid for your coffee, and everything.”

Kuroo pretends to seriously think about the matter for a few seconds before he gives in. “Yeah, okay,” says Kuroo. “Just to return the favor. It’s not like I want one or anything.”

“You’re a liar,” says Oikawa cheerfully. “Now let’s go!”

 

“By the way,” says Kuroo conversationally. “Are you sure this is the line we get on? Because I thought the shopping center was the other way.”

Oikawa looks up from 1010! on his phone. He inhales slowly. “Tetsu-chan.”

“Dude,” says Kuroo. “Did you take us on the wrong train?”

“I was following you!”

“You were clearly ahead of me, leading the way. Blaming me isn’t gonna do anything.” Kuroo yawns. “You’ve never been to the shopping center before? I kinda assumed you did, since you wear new clothes fairly often.”

“Great of you to notice,” says Oikawa sarcastically. “But usually Iwa-chan makes all the switches and directions, I’m not great with trains.”

“The Sendai train system is literally in Miyagi,” says Kuroo. “How do you not.”

“Whatever, city boy,” mumbles Oikawa. 

Kuroo hears him anyway. “That is the single most embarrassing thing I have ever heard,” he says. “What, do you want me to call you country boy?”

“That’s disgusting, please don’t.”

“In any case. We can just switch when we arrive at the next stop, no big deal.”

Now that is a plan. That is a great plan. A great plan that does not come to fruition because Kuroo takes cat naps whenever conceivably possible and Oikawa’s almost beat his high score in 1010!

Which results in them being three stops away from their original destination. 

“My phone died,” says Oikawa. “What am I supposed to do now.”

“I know what you could’ve done if your phone had died earlier,” says Kuroo languidly. “Notice when we were supposed to get off, for one thing.”

“Oh, shut up,” says Oikawa. “I’ve never been to this part of the city. We might as well go exploring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now listen. listen. i know this was supposed to be oikage. i have no idea what happened  
> i'm trying to update weekly but if i don't then well.


	4. this week, on oikawa tooru is a drama queen,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who hasn't updated in a month *slides in with shades*
> 
> i know i say this every time but i didn't plan or edit this which is why the story is sliding off track i just write what i want to
> 
> also i Thrive off attention so please kudos and comment if you can
> 
> in advance: i'm sorry

Oikawa is not actually as upset at this situation as he should be. For one thing, he hadn’t wanted to go back to his dorm. There’s a sizable stack of assignments for him, a good majority of them due the next week. He’s not eager to start on it.

For another thing, he’s been feeling suffocated for days. Even when he does something as simple as breathing, there’s a strange dryness at the back of his throat that tries to choke the air out of him. The lethargy and self-doubt it’s been causing has made him want to just stop in the middle of a street.

Well. He’s always been curious about the mechanics of a car crash anyway.

It’s. Stress, maybe. Not for anything in particular, just everything in general and he’s needed to get out. Iwaizumi had noticed something was off, too, and Oikawa was going to avoid that conversation as long as he can.

He’s not going to share any of this with Kuroo, though. Maybe if Oikawa guilts him enough (improbable; Kuroo’s smart enough to realize when something’s not his fault) he can get him to buy him something.

“Tetsu-chan,” says Oikawa, charming but still with that note of whininess that Hanamaki insists is characteristic of him. “Treat me to ice cream.” He gestures at the rustic ice cream parlor across the street.

“I’ve got, like, five hundred sixty yen,” says Kuroo.

“Why did you agree to go shopping if you only had change on you,” says Oikawa. He tries to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“I figured that you could charm our way to a discount or two,” grins Kuroo, expression deceptively innocent. Or. As innocent as he could get with that face he was born with.

“I think I should be offended by that,” says Oikawa, twirling a stray piece of hair round his index finger. He untwists it and blows upward out the corner of his mouth. “But you’re right. With this face, I could probably con a few million yen from some rich businessman.”

Kuroo begins to look pleased, but before he gets any bright ideas, Oikawa says, “You’re on your own for this one. Though I doubt that you can’t get any discounts on yourself.”

Kuroo’s smile curls cleverly around his lips. “Did you just call me good looking?”

“I don’t recall doing anything like that,” says Oikawa. He takes a step into the road. “Let’s go.”

Kuroo looks entirely too satisfied with himself, which might’ve been justified. It doesn’t mean Oikawa likes it.

As Oikawa opens the door to the establishment, he turns around to gesture Kuroo in as well. Except.

“Fuckin’ damn ass rock,” grumbles Kuroo. He’s spread over the storefront, limbs splayed on the concrete. A sizable rock rolls slightly to the side.

“Tragic,” says Oikawa, holding back an unattractive chortle. He whips out his phone and takes a selfie with him.

“Have you no heart,” says Kuroo, the side of his cheek plastered to the sidewalk. Ten feet away, a little girl points the pathetic man who can’t manage walking properly and her mother turns her head away.

“I knew you’d be swept off your feet someday, but I hadn’t considered it’d be by way of a rock,” sings Oikawa, captioning his snap with ‘lol, guys, the hell cat is being summoned back to where he came from’.

“Honestly, I feel like crying, a little,” says Kuroo. “Why can’t the world let me be cool for one day. Something always has to fuck me up.”

“Being lame is a base instinct of yours,” says Oikawa, squatting down. His skinny jeans bunch around his thighs uncomfortably. He holds out a hand. “Don’t worry. Your lovely date with a heart of gold will love you even if you’re a loser.”

“Thaaannkss,” says Kuroo, hoisting himself up. He dusts off the seat of his pants. “Why don’t _you_ buy me a cone, out of the kindness of your golden heart.”

“I’ll pass on the offer,” says Oikawa, smirking, but when they go inside he buys a single scoop cheesecake cone in addition to his own mint chocolate.

 

 

 

 

“I kinda want a boyfriend,” says Oikawa. Kuroo eyes him in patient interest. Their legs link under the plastic white table.

When Kuroo doesn’t say anything, Oikawa clears his throat and says, “Aren’t you going to ask more?”

Kuroo hums, swipes his tongue out the side of his lips to catch a drip of ice cream. “I figured ifyou wanted me to know, you’d keep talking.”

“You’re insufferable,” Oikawa says mourningly. “But okay. It’s like I want somebody I can cuddle and make out with and get up in the morning to see their face and have them make me breakfast and shitty coffee. And go on dates and watch B movies with.”

Kuroo ruminates on this. “Hm,” he says after a considering pause. “If that’s what you’re looking for, don’t you have Iwaizumi already?”

Oikawa snorts. “Iwa-chan is a friend.”

“That you have a crush on.”

Oikawa turns a relaxed smile on him, propping his chin on his upturned palm. “I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

“I fail to see how it isn’t?” says Kuroo, smiling just as relaxedly, the lids of his eyes falling half closed.

“If I’ve known him since we were in diapers and he hasn’t developed any romantic feelings for me yet, I doubt it’s going to happen now.”

“Have you ever confessed?”

“Why ruin a good thing?”

Kuroo hums. “I had a crush on Bokuto for a good year or so, once,” he says.

“And how well did that work out for you,” says Oikawa, nonplussed. He’s not surprised by this information. He’d thought as much, at some point.

Kuroo shrugs, half a smile tugged up. “I confessed, got rejected, and we’re still best friends. What do you think?”

“Figures,” says Oikawa, a touch fondly. “The sun shines out of his ass. I bet he was super worried about it, and then you said you were fine, so he believed you.”

“Pretty much,” Kuroo says easily. “And it eventually came true. It’s a lot harder to give up on something when you haven’t completely let it go. Just rip it off. Like a bandaid.”

“I’m the kind of person that slowly peels them off,” says Oikawa. “And I’m a compulsive hoarder. I can’t ‘let things go.’ And knowing Iwa-chan, he’s going to be a lot more reserved to make sure I’m not uncomfortable. Even if I’m not.”

“Tough nuts.” Kuroo gets a certain look on his face that alerts Oikawa he’s going to say something idiotic. “You could just fall in love with somebody else.”

“Yeah,” says Oikawa sarcastically. “There’s a line of people in line to date me, I know, but where am I going to find someone _I_ like?”

“You could start,” says Kuroo, “with me.” 

Some things filter in Oikawa’s mind, one being: what the fuck, another being what the fuck, another being aw, that’s pretty nice.

Oikawa gazes at him, unimpressed. “You’ve been in love with me all this time, haven’t you. And you’ve been waiting for your time to strike. How awful.”

Kuroo shrugs. “A lot of people have a lowkey crush on you. I just happen to be one of them.” He bites the rest of his cone. “Very lowkey, mind you. I wouldn’t mind being a rebound.”

“I can’t rebound from something that hasn’t started,” Oikawa protests. His ears start to heat up when Kuroo’s words start sinking in. “That was the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard. You make it sound like a pity date.”

Kuroo drums his fingers on the tabletop. “You could just as well ask Kageyama, if I’m no good,” says Kuroo, grinning slyly. He untangles his legs from Oikawa’s casually. Oikawa almost doesn’t notice it.

Almost. He rehooks his legs together. “Don’t try to run away,” says Oikawa sweetly. “You can’t take back asking me out. Also, the idea of me dating Tobio-chan makes me want to puke on his shoes.”

Kuroo stretches languidly. “You’re being self-conscious,” he says, and he makes an oddly convincing case for himself. “My legs were just sore.”

“Just making sure,” says Oikawa. “Wouldn’t want to make this _weird_ , now would we, Tetsu-chan?” 

“How would this be weird,” Kuroo says. “We’re friends, I want to kiss you sometimes, how would that make things weird.”

Oikawa stares expectantly. Kuroo scratches the back of his neck. “That came out weird,” he says. “No, but honestly, you dating Kageyama would be pretty hilarious. You’d have to be the one to ask him out, too, since he thinks you’re, and I quote, ‘an arrogant idiot who is mean and pretentious and hard to deal with.’”

“How did you remember the exact wording,” Oikawa says, in a small amount of wonder.

Kuroo finger guns. Then he glances out the window, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Do you still want to do the shopping? We spent a lot of time in the ice cream shop, so it’s kind of late.”

Oikawa checks his watch. “You’re right,” he says, surprised. “It’s eight.”

“There’s no shopping centers around here, but there is a night market. If you still want to, we can go,” Kuroo offers. He stands up. “How about it?”

Oikawa looks at him incredulously. “Of course I want to go,” he says. “What’re we waiting for?”

 

 

 

 

“Wait,” says Oikawa. He abruptly stops amidst a line of food and market stalls. “We’re holding hands.”

Kuroo smacks his lips, licking off excess oil from the takoyaki. “Yeah,” he concludes. “We are.”

“Is this a date,” says Oikawa.

“You want to ask about this now, when we’ve been talking about being boyfriends the entire day,” says Kuroo, unimpressed. He tugs Oikawa towards a mask vendor.

“That was before I realized you had a massive crush on me,” corrects Oikawa. “I don’t think I like you like that, sorry.”

Kuroo shrugs. “You win some, you lose some,” he says, agreeably. “I distinctly remember saying that the crush affair was a small thing, but whatever.” He points out a mask he wants and pays the vendor. “Thank you, ojisan,” he says.

“No problem!” The vendor speaks in a loud voice, and he sounds pleasantly happy and a little drunk. “You can get one for your boyfriend, too, free of charge!”

The night market is loud and bustling. The night is dark, but the stars twinkle in the sky surprisingly brightly for Tokyo, and there are colorful lanterns and lights hung up that illuminate the entire area. The lively atmosphere from all the laughing families, couples, and friends cause the place to bustle with energy. 

The market vendors display colorful clothes, accessories, and cheap toys, while the food vendors have mouthwatering smoke wafting from them with the desserts on trays in glass cases. In game stalls, a generous amount of people line up to shoot a target, scoop goldfish, and more.

Oikawa had been enthralled by the atmosphere when he’d arrived, but no more. Sure, there could’ve been a time (read: five hours ago) when he’d have accepted the free mask with nothing but joy and gratitude. But now was different. Now he had to think about the _implications_.

“We’re not dating,” Oikawa says intelligently, but by then Kuroo had already offered his profuse gratitude and chosen another one.

It’s silent when they walk away. Not uncomfortably silent. Kuroo never was one to make a silence uncomfortable. But now it was charged with a weird sort of tension that Oikawa hadn’t bothered to take notice of (or conjure?) before when they were eating their food together.

“Hey,” they say at the same time. “You go first,” says Oikawa.

Kuroo breathes in. “Alright,” he says. “If you’re not okay with acting as we usually do, I get it. The past few hours, you’ve been flipping between on edge and completely carefree, and I don’t want you to continue staying here if you don’t want to.” He flips his masks around his thumb idly, but there’s more force behind them than is natural. “We can stop, uh, holding hands if you want, too. Though to be fair, you were the one that initiated it.”

When Oikawa opens his mouth, Kuroo presses on. “And, uh, I didn’t hang out with you all those times because I kind of liked you. I just liked your company. In case you were feeling taken advantage of.”

Now Oikawa feels bad, because apparently he’s been making his good friend Kuroo Tetsurou worry after him because he can’t let anything go.

“No,” he sighs. “I was overreacting. You’re right. It’d be weirder if you didn’t have a crush on me.” Kuroo raises an eyebrow in amusement, and Oikawa plows on. “I know you weren’t ‘taking advantage’ of me, or whatever. I can sense bad intentions from a mile away, you know.”

Oikawa clasps their hands tighter together. “I like holding hands, anyways,” he says. “Out of everyone who likes holding hands, I like the way you do it best. Refreshing-kun and Kou-chan squeeze too hard.”

Kuroo grins. “Great,” he says. Oikawa hadn’t noticed until Kuroo’s shoulders loosened that they’d been tight at all. “Glad that’s over with.”

“Of course it’s not,” Oikawa says indignantly. “One of the masks was for me, the boyfriend, and yet you took it for yourself. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I don’t think you’ll like them,” says Kuroo. It’s clear he’s suppressing laughter.

“Of course I would,” he insists. 

“I take it back,” he says, not even five seconds later when Kuroo swings matching Naruto and Sasuke masks in his face. They’re not even the Shippuden ones. Staring back at him are two prepubescent faces, one scene kid with an unacceptable amount of angst and a blondie whose face splitting grin that was too upbeat to be real.

“Knew it,” Kuroo chortles. “I’ll just keep both of them, then. I can hang them one in my dorm room. The other I’ll take off never.”

“I changed my mind again,” Oikawa says, half with disgust, half with fear. “I need to take one off your hands. You’ll never be able to sleep with one of these things staring down at you. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

Kuroo looks away solemnly. “[If you believe it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-d86meXzUBo),” he says.

“Don’t start,” Oikawa says quietly in horror.

“I gotta,” says Kuroo. He snaps on the Naruto mask and steps away. “This is who I really am,” Kuroo says, almost regretfully, and slinks off to a performance booth for the public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, i don't know if night markets have these but there are entertainment stalls and i made up one where marker-goers could show off a skill to others for a Price. kuroo blasts his music on the speakers and makes a decent amount of money dancing to the german naruto theme, actually. he and bokuto practiced a dance routine video on the internet extensively so they could copy it and they got pretty good
> 
> oikawa died of shame. there's going to be no other chapter after this the protag is dead (jk)


	5. the cruel angel's thesis: oikawa tooru occasionally makes mistakes. the body paragraphs are a work in progress. the conclusion will not be reached until he's six feet under with his alien daimakura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this installment, oikawa is forced to contemplate things about his countenance he could have gone another five years without, and he runs into a gremlin child that needs to pee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no but seriously the amount of merchandise nge puts out is ridiculous. this does not stop me from wanting eva canned bread. while i'm at it, the toaster also looks cool

“Okay,” says Oikawa to the void at 3 am in a nearby convenience store. “All right.” The cashier is making a point of ignoring him, instead gazing intensely at the cuticles of his nails. The store is a beacon of florescent light of the unwavering dark outside, offset by only dim street lights. That, in addition to getting up at the crack of dawn that morning (or, rather, yesterday), Oikawa’s eyeballs are very close to just drying out and dropping from their sockets. “Why the fuck does this place need to stock more than one kind of detergent. I don’t even know how to use detergent, how am I gonna figure out the difference.”

If you were to ask Oikawa what he is doing in such a place at such an hour, he will not be able to answer you. He has a five thousand word report due in just six hours, which he’s only done four fifths of, not to mention the editing and citing that needs to be done afterwards. Before he’s realized it, though, he’d gone out the door, walked off campus, and is currently wallowing in regrets.

“I don’t even need detergent,” grumbles Oikawa. It’s true. He’s already got two new boxes of the stuff his room somewhere. Which, if all the previous factors hadn’t already made him do so, makes him want to question his decision making skills. 

His eyes burn more insistently. “Right,” he says again, louder this time. The cashier finally deigns to give him a bored look for a brief second before going back to his business. “Some eye drops.”

So he goes to the eyedrops aisle, and lo and behold, there are even more kinds of eye drops than there are detergents. “Kill me,” Oikawa says bleakly. He sluggishly reaches out for the gaudiest looking one (he thought Evangelion had this particular promotion four years ago, god knows how these are still in stock) and walks to the cash register.

“Here,” he says, straining to keep his eyes open. “Ring me up. Please.”

The cashier looks up balefully from his bag of chips and clicks his tongue. “Thank you for your purchase,” he drawls, dragging the syllables out. “That’ll be 500 yen.”

Oikawa sighs, turns his head to the door, looking at anything but the blinking green numbers. This is what I get for trying to buy merchandise, he thinks viciously, and then he sees unfortunately familiar inky blue eyes and black hair.

The automatic doors open with a disproportionately cheerful beep, and Kageyama Tobio freezes midstep, a stray piece of hair pressed back in the middle of his bangs. He looks at Oikawa, looks about the store, and.

Turns right on his heel and briskly walks back out. The entrance snaps shut with a foreboding air of finality.

Oh, hell no, Oikawa thinks, and then sprints out the door.

When he’s nearly caught up with Kageyama, who’d gotten as far as round the corner, Kageyama nonchalantly glances back at him. His eyes widen, and whips his head back front and starts running as well.

Ohohohoho. Oikawa doesn’t want to see Kageyama Tobio, especially on this day with its shitty circumstances, not by a long shot.

But fuck all if he’s not irrationally angry by being avoided by the little turd, when _he’s_ supposed to be the one doing the avoiding. Who in their right mind would willingly seek out that sorry excuse of a human being? Who in their right mind would go out of their way to make things harder for themselves when the other party has done them the courtesy to bow out?

But then Oikawa remembers that the reason he’s even out of his room right now is because his brain decided to quit on him, and he scowls, night air whipping his cheeks and hair as he pumps his arms and legs.

The really awful thing, Oikawa thinks bitterly, is that Kageyama is _fast._ Almost as fast as he is—and, if he’s being honest, probably _as_ fast. Oikawa could blame this on the fact that he’s sleep deprived, except his blood is rushing under his skin and he’s as awake as he’s ever been.

They round at least fifteen street corners before Kageyama abruptly skids to a stop, his heels squeaking on the cement. He rests his head on a nearby telephone pole, and glares at Oikawa when he catches up a moment later. “What do you want,” he demands, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’ve been chasing me for nearly two miles. Is this harassment?”

Oikawa blinks. Now that he thinks about it, he hadn’t articulated a witty opening statement for when he’d caught up with Kageyama yet. So he, instead of a well-planned scathing remark, starts off with, “Who taught you manners, hasn’t anybody told you it’s rude to avoid somebody that blatantly?”

It’s not one of his best, but it’ll have to do. Oikawa is a little disappointed in himself. 

Kageyama furrows his eyebrows, and Oikawa should be able to tell whether he’s genuinely angry or whether at the moment, but Kageyama looks so angry in general that he really can’t.

“You wouldn’t have wanted to talk, anyways,” says Kageyama. “It’d be better for me to just leave than awkwardly hanging around the store. You don’t like me, so why should it matter?”

“I don’t hate you,” Oikawa says reflexively.

Kageyama squints distrustfully, his teeth gnashing in a frustration that Oikawa can’t get a hold of. “I didn’t say anything about hate,” he says. “I just kind of guessed you weren’t thrilled about seeing me.”

“What kind of false accusation,” says Oikawa, smooth as baby oil, but all of a sudden he feels distinctly uncomfortable, because, well, it’s true.

Kageyama’s mouth thins into a straight line. “What do you want,” he repeats.

Oikawa is better than this. He has tact by the gallon, and suddenly all of it has abandoned him and spilled into a sewer somewhere.

“You hurt my feelings,” Oikawa tries, and it’s a shot in the dark but it’s bound to land somewhere. “Who runs away from people who’re obviously trying to talk to them.”

“Who wouldn’t run away when somebody’s chasing them,” Kageyama says, unimpressed. 

“That’s fair,” Oikawa says, feeling markedly out of his element. “Well. What crawled up your ass and died. You seem snappier than usual.”

_You’ve talked to me, like, two times before,_ Kageyama’s eyes seem to mock him in. “It’s been a long day,” he says. Then he scowls imprints deeper into his face. “Then, if that’s all, I’m going now.”

Kageyama turns, flips up his hoodie, and walks up the street, hunched over in basketball shorts and sneakers. 

Once blue-black hair is out of sight, Oikawa is snapped out of his reverie and suddenly re-aware of the moisture collecting at the corners of his eyes. 

He curses loudly, glaring at the stars accusingly. “I forgot to get the damn eyedrops.”

 

 

 

 

“Is it possible,” Oikawa says to his pillow that afternoon, “that maybe perhaps there’s a chance that I go too far sometimes.”

“What the hell are you talking about now,” says Iwaizumi. The only light source in the room is from his desk lamp, and it illuminates him in an unflattering orange glow that bounces off the spiky black of his hair. Oikawa is doing his best not to comment.

Oikawa turns imploring eyes to Iwaizumi, enshrouded in a blanket burrito. “I’m having a moment, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa. He sniffs dramatically for good measure, though there actually is a tight coil of guilt in his lower abdomen to back up his theatrics. He rolls to the other end of the bed.

Iwaizumi is suitably concerned. “Why are you suddenly worried about your attitude,” he says, ripping open a protein bar. He stuffs a fifth of it in his mouth.

“At least pretend to be sympathetic to my plight,” says Oikawa, but it’s half-hearted. Iwaizumi seems to notice, because he swivels around on his chair to look at Oikawa. He rests his chin on his fist, leaning into his seat. “Right,” says Iwaizumi. “What is it this time.” But he sounds a little worried now, and Oikawa stifles a small smile.

“The strange thing about conversations,” says Oikawa, avoiding directly answering the question for now, “is that they can go off track surprisingly quickly. A lot of things seem to be involved in communication, so it’s amazingly easy to screw up. Or rather, it’s strange not to screw up.”

“It’s a wonder you discovered this so late in life,” Iwaizumi snarks, but his voice is softer than usual. “Has your silver tongue failed you, now.”

“In my defense,” Oikawa starts protesting, but thinks better of it and stays quiet.

“In your defense,” Iwaizumi prompts. He takes another bite of his bar.

Oikawa holds his stare. “Nothing,” he says finally. “Finish your reading, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi looks unconvinced, but he turns back around. “You can tell me later,” he says clearly to the bulletin board tacked in front of him.

“I’ll do that,” Oikawa lies.

The sound of pen on paper and flipping pages is the only sound for a good twenty minutes, before Oikawa speaks up again. “Hey, Iwa-chan,” he says in his best I-need-a-favor-voice. “I need to pee. So if you could unroll me.”

Oikawa does not manage to dodge the highlighter thrown at him.

 

 

 

 

Oikawa is not overly familiar with guilt. If something’s bothering him, he generally goes to take care of it before it can plague his mind any more than it has to.

He _would_ sort things out. Except he has no idea where to find Kageyama without asking Kuroo, who would only give him that all-knowing smile Oikawa would rather eat tomatoes than to have directed at him.

So, last resort.

The funny thing is, once Oikawa’s actively looking for him, Kageyama Tobio is nowhere to be found. He doesn’t go to Oikawa’s university, isn’t a regular at Oikawa’s coffee shop, and doesn’t have a social media presence. He isn’t even at that park he lost his volleyball at, even though Oikawa had spent a grand total of three hours waiting around to catch a glimpse of him.

“Fuck,” Oikawa says with regret. He’d taken a break from twiddling his thumbs on a park bench to take refuge at some shop, and is now staring at his bubble tea, one hand slowly mixing the straw around the cup. There’s a drop of condensation on the outside that he’s particularly interested in; it starts off small and absorbs the others as it makes its way down.

He blinks when it finally hits the bottom, and then. A ball of orange barrels towards his table.

“That! You’re! The Grand King!” he screeches.

“Hello, chibi-chan,” says Oikawa. He nudges his glasses up his nose. Interesting nickname. Oikawa would be lying if he said he wasn’t preening at least a little bit. “How’ve you been.”

“Pretty good, actually!” says—Hinata? Oikawa has honestly forgotten his name by now. “Me and my team just won a volleyball game the other day, and we got past the first round for the intercollegiate volleyball tournament thing!"

“Congratulations,” says Oikawa, as good natured as he ever he is. “My team did too, maybe we’ll face off against each other.”

Hinata grins, and Oikawa can honestly say he’d never seen anything as soul-cleansing in his entire life. His smiles have a special quality to them that cause a layer of stress melt right off. “Yeah, and by then Bakageyama will be so fired up, he’s been working even harder than usual.”

Oikawa jolts. That’s right. Hinata knows Kageyama. He coughs discreetly. “Right,” he says, adopting a casual tone. “What’s Kageyama up to?”

“He’s doing well, practices hard every day,” says Hinata cheerfully. “He was kind of in a funk a few days ago, but he’s gotten over it by now.”

“Oh,” says Oikawa, with a carefully calculated amount of interest. “Why so?”

“I dunno. Everybody has bad days, I guess,” says Hinata. He taps his foot on the linoleum of the shop floor. “Um, I gotta go pee.”

“You go do that,” says Oikawa, and Hinata bolts.

Steepling his fingers together, Oikawa scrunches his eyes shut. They still burn, he thinks. 

Now, the question is, was Kageyama pissed off because he saw Oikawa or was he already pissed off and acted that way because of that.

This should be an opportunity to learn and perhaps not be so asshole-ish to people, the they-started-it mentality, which Oikawa is a strong advocate of, aside. Kageyama is probably younger than he is, which means the responsibility falls on him to be the bigger person. In retrospect, if Oikawa cared to think about it, he would realize that he has been unreasonably petty on some accounts.

Being petty is part of my character, though, Oikawa thinks, sulking. 

So he sits there at his table for a bit until Hinata comes back out, still sipping his tea and calling the higher powers that put him in this awful spot some nasty names his mum would dunk him in the toilet if she heard him say.

Hinata skips past the door surprisingly quickly, and Oikawa clears his throfat for attention. Hinata twists his head back at him, already halfway out the entrance, gives a questioning look.

“If you could give me Kageyama’s number, that’d be great,” says Oikawa.

A crease appears between Hinata’s forehead, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Are you trying to stalk him?” asks Hinata. “I think he’d be angry if I gave out his number to random people, anyways.”

“Where do you think I’d have the time and motive to do something like that,” Oikawa says, his teeth clamped in a genial smile. He’d been doing more or less exactly that, recently, but his intentions are pure and full of good will.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, a voice sounding unpleasantly like his middle school English teacher says, and he politely tells it to jam its head up its ass.

“You could ask him for it yourself,” Hinata offers, though his tone of voice is slightly hesitant. “I’m going to meet up with him to practice, right now. Do you want to come?”

Oikawa’d be damned if he spends any more time getting acquainted with a certain park bench (he will not name names, but @the asshole with splinters and the ugly neon orange paint two blocks away, stop being a menace to society), so of course, he accepts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you ever just wanted to get things out so you half-ass the heck out of it. oikawa's character is all over the place  
> call out post for me: stop projecting yourself onto oikawa tooru he deserves better


	6. oikawa tooru often ignores his own conscience, which is exactly why he has an inner iwaizumi hajime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa is awful at apologizing. this comes at absolutely no one's surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha it's been three months but it's cool, right
> 
> hope you like this one! it actually took me a while to bang it out but now i'm Satisfied
> 
> please leave comments and kudos! i, a local gay, need them to feed my gay crops

Once Oikawa gets over his initial relief that Kageyama and chibi-chan are not, in fact, practicing at their school gym, and thereby Oikawa doesn’t have to barge into Kageyama’s own school campus like some kind of stalker, he takes note of the undeniably awkward air between him and Sunshine.

It’s to be expected that the air would be somewhat stilted; from what Oikawa’s seen, it’s clear Sunshine thinks of him as a suspicious person that is possibly going to kidnap his friend. But, going by how he was leading Oikawa to his meet up with Kageyama in spite of that, it’s also clear that Sunshine is a bit of an idiot.

“So,” Oikawa says, cleanly dispersing the stale mood, “which school do you go to?”

Sunshine immediately lights up. “Waseda! The volleyball team is so good! I’m only a reserve, though,” he says, faltering a little, but immediately bounds back with, “I’m going to be on the starting lineup eventually! Maybe even by the end of the year!”

Oikawa hums. “Mm, work hard, chibi-chan.”

“What about you, Grand King?” asks Sunshine cheerfully. “What’s your name, by the way? And what position are you? I’m a wing spiker!”

“I’m a setter. And I go to Keio.”

“Kageyama’s a setter, too!” Sunshine enthuses. “You guys can practice together!”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at that, but otherwise they continue chatting comfortably about volleyball and school until they reach their destination.

“So,” says Oikawa flatly. “Here, huh.” They were in front of the exact park Oikawa had just been loafing around at.

“Yeah!” says Sunshine. “There’s two sets of volleyball courts, but they’re both on opposite sides of the park. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa echoes. “Weird.”

Sunshine bounds ahead, Oikawa now trailing behind him cautiously. Dear god, thinks Oikawa in sudden urgency. You spent hours sitting around doing nothing _but_  thinking of how to apologize to him. How is it possible that you’ve forgotten _all_ of it? At least a sentence, here!

 _You could just try saying sorry the normal way,_ suggests inner him.

Shut up, thinks Oikawa. The apology’s supposed to go in a way that’s clear I regret my actions and will amend it, without making things embarrassing for me if he decides to reject it. Got any bright ideas?

Inner him chooses that moment to stop bothering him. Oikawa is momentarily glad, until he realizes inner him had just taken that opportunity to bring out his inner Iwaizumi to back him up, who only says, _Just apologize and get it over with, idiot_.

That’s foul play, Oikawa thinks sourly. Stop depending on Iwa-chan to do everything for you, you goddamn leech. 

Inner him makes an affronted sort of noise.

“We’re here,” Sunshine announces.

Oikawa looks up in annoyance, then blinks. No wonder he hadn’t found this place; it had been fairly out of the way. It was a largish space, with the lines of a volleyball court with white lines roughly painted onto the concrete and a glistening white net hung taut between two poles. The striking newness of the net threw the ambiance of the rest of the beaten, dirty court pleasantly off-kilter. The rest of the area was open space, shaded with the big forest green trees and thrown into sharp relief with the shamrock grass surrounded it. There was even a vending machine and another park bench (this one a respectable faded brown) off to the side.

“Neat, huh,” grins Sunshine, seeing Oikawa’s wide-eyed stare. “We didn’t discover this place until about a week ago. Keep it a secret for us, okay?”

Oikawa nods, somewhat in a daze.

He snaps out of his reverie when he hears the sound of something thumping softly to the ground. He turns to look at the source, and ba dum tss, it is no other than one Kageyama Tobio, staring in wide-eyed shock, hands clutching at a ball that had fallen to his feet.

“Good afternoon, Tobi—Kageyama-kun,” Oikawa says cheerily. “What a—what a coincidence.”

Sunshine is looking at him strangely, while Kageyama mouth moves jawlessly and his cheeks warm to an interesting shade of puce.  
  
Kageyama grabs Sunshine and hisses in his ear. “Why the hell is Oikawa-san here? You said you were taking a bathroom break, not bringing back—that.”

Somewhat offended at being called “that,” Oikawa tunes out the rest of their frantic whispers and stares hard at the sky filtering summer typical sunshine down through the trees. Typical, he thinks unrepentantly. Why am I not surprised things are being more difficult than it needs to be?

A steady, “Um…Oikawa-san” pushes him out of his musings.

Kageyama has his hand stuck out in front of him uncertainly. “Uh,” says Kageyama. Evidently Hinata had told him his contact info was wanted. He is decidedly not looking at Oikawa. “I can put my number into your phone, if you want.”

Oikawa studies the proffered hand. The fingertips are rough, worn with practice, calluses worn over into palms. He sighs, takes his phone out of his back pocket, unlocks it, and places it into Kageyama’s waiting fingers. He inspects his own cuticles as he waits.

He scowls. Damn it. He’s got to clip his nails soon. And his nail polish is starting to chip, too.

When Tobio hands his phone back, Oikawa ignores his hesitance. Kageyama has put his contact name as, simply, Kageyama Tobio. Oikawa promptly goes to change it to “blueberry turd” until he remembers that he’d promised himself not to be not quite so caustic. Sighing in distaste, he goes back to make the switch back to “kageyama-kun”.

They’re at a callous impasse. The pair of them are simply surveying over each other, with a span of a few meters between them. Kageyama’s face had returned to its stony default, Oikawa still in his thoughtful—not regret, but perhaps closer to rumination. Sunshine glances at the two of them in uncertainty.

Oikawa breaks the silence first. “So about the convenience store thing,” he begins.

To his surprise, Kageyama bows down low, at a perfect ninety degree angle. His face isn’t even visible anymore; all Oikawa sees of him is the top of his head, his bangs blocking view of his eyes. “I’m very sorry,” Kageyama says, louder than he’s been for all their other encounters. Oikawa blinks at the transparent sincerity that, quite frankly, had come out of left field. “I have no excuse for treating you that way, especially since you’re older than me. Please forgive my rudeness.”

“That’s a bit much,” says Oikawa, more than a little uncomfortable. “You don’t need to speak so politely.”

Thank god I don’t actually have to apologize to him, thinks Oikawa. If he thinks it’s his fault, then no problem done, and we can all move on from this.

 _Yeah, sure,_ snorts inner him. _Aren’t you embarrassed that you’re making someone younger than you take responsibility for your own actions? There’s a limit to being shameless, you know._

And I haven’t reached it yet, replies Oikawa smoothly. And it was his fault anyway?

He sounds unconvincing, even to his own ears.

Iwa-chan, side with me, here, thinks Oikawa, even though he knows exactly what Iwaizumi’s thoughts on the matter will be.

His inner Iwaizumi, as expected, gives him a long look.

Okay, fine, Oikawa thinks. Nobody’s on my side, then.

But he’s mildly relieved; his guilt was in danger of catching up with him.

Sunshine’s gazing at him expectantly, and Kageyama’s still in his rigid bow. Oikawa clears his throat. “It’s fine, To—Kageyama-kun. It might have been my fault as well. I’ve also been a little. Disagreeable. How about we just let bygones be bygones, okay?”

He waits. Kageyama’s still bowing. Sunshine looks simultaneously looks like he’s enjoying the display, but also like he’s a tiny bit terrified.

“For fuck’s sakes, Kageyama-kun,” says Oikawa impatiently. “I’m pouring my heart out here. Can’t you at least give me a reply?”

Kageyama rises, and if the motion is ungainly, Oikawa does nothing to comment on it. “Okay,” says Kageyama. If he has a stupidly happy grin on his face, Oikawa does nothing to comment on that either.

“Okay,” says Oikawa, tired. “I’ll be making my leave now.”

“Grand King,” protests Sunshine, who is now doing a happy little hop thing. “You’re already here, so why don’t we practice volleyball a little!” He turns to Kageyama excitedly. “Did you know that Grand King plays for Keio?”

Kageyama noticeably perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Sunshine shouts. Then the pair of them turn to look at him eagerly.

Oikawa backs away a step. “I think I’ll pass.” And that’s supposed to be it, but the pair of them adopt faces of such exaggerated sadness Oikawa feels as if he stepped on the body of a small dog. And that it died immediately afterwards. And that in fact, it had belonged to a little old man for whom it had been his only companion because his children and grandchildren didn’t care enough to visit him.

“Oh,” says Sunshine, droopy. He even has the goddamn eyes of a small dog. “That’s too bad.”

Kageyama listlessly goes to chase after the dropped volleyball that had rolled away.

This is what I get when I try to be the bigger person, thinks Oikawa reflectively.

 

 

 

 

 

Some things that Oikawa learns, practicing volleyball with some kids he had sparingly seen over the span of a month:

  1. If somebody says that they can jump, don’t be surprised when _they can jump._
    1. Waseda is already a force to be reckoned with, but when Hinata Shouyou, who is a shrimp but can jump up literally twice his height, joins the starting lineup, he’s definitely going to be looking forward to seeing that. 
    2. His spiking is also something to pay attention to.
  2. Kageyama Tobio is absurdly talented at volleyball.
    1. Oikawa would even go so far as to call it genius, even though he hates the word and all it stands for; but what else can he call it but that, with pinpoint accuracy and electric intensity. 
    2. And he can _spike_ , though Oikawa can tell he hasn’t put as much work into it as his setting.
    3. Kageyama is definitely going the be a tough opponent. Oikawa is silently grateful there had never been a Kageyama on his team when he was younger and not as mature, or he is certain there would have been Problems.
  3. That freak quick of theirs is a menace.
    1. Oikawa’s taken mental notes on how to counter it, though, and he’s definitely used the afternoon to practice to help.
  4. It’s not that he’d grown to dislike volleyball, but a certain fire does get rekindled when you see people enjoy something so much with their very beings, like nothing exists besides it.
  5. Kageyama is really very captivating when he’s concentrated and happy. His eyes fire up and his forehead mops with sweat and he’s smiling so hard and it’s adorable. Like a kid in elementary school.
  6. He is definitely going to bed sore tonight, but he can’t say he regrets it.



When the sun is finally finished setting and the other two are getting ready to leave, Oikawa sits on the reliable brown bench, looking at the swirls of dark in the sky and feeling each individual ache across his body. He hadn’t had exercise clothes on either, so he’d had to spend the day in his shirt and jeans. Humming contemplatively, he takes a sip of the green tea he’d gotten from the vending machine.

“Oikawa-san,” says a voice in front of him. Oikawa looks down from the clouds.

“Whaaat, Kageyama-kun,” he says, drawing out the words petulantly. Surprisingly, it’s more from a bout of good humor than from mockery. “Weren’t you going back with Chibi-chan?”

Kageyama shifts, one hand in his sweatpants pocket, the other scratching the back of his head. Oikawa stares in wonder. Kageyama is somehow drinking from a carton of milk without holding it at all, save by sheer force of his mouth. Oikawa thought he knew the basic laws of physics, but then again, he thought he knew a lot of things.

Kageyama is looking at him in his usual, needlessly intense way. Oikawa doesn’t flinch, and continues sipping from his green tea unconcernedly.

“He’s waiting for me in front of the park. I just wondered,” Kageyama says slowly, “why you suddenly started calling me…Kageyama-kun.”

Oikawa gazes at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t you tell me to stop calling you Tobio-chan? Why would I want to agitate you if I was coming here to—” Oikawa sighs. “Apologize.”

When Kageyama still looks unsatisfied, Oikawa sighs again, smiling this time. “What, do you want me to call you Kageyama-san, now?”

The crease between Kageyama’s eyes is getting deeper, and his mouth is twitching in agitation. Oikawa is starting to enjoy himself. “Kageyama-sama? Though that’s a bit much, even for you—”

“Just call me Kageyama,” Kageyama grounds in frustration. The milk box straw is slipping from his lips, and Oikawa has it intercepted into his fingers before it falls.

“Haha. That’s a good idea. How about no,” says Oikawa. Then, before Kageyama snaps out his slight daze, he says, “Well, I might as well stick with Tobio-chan, then.”

Oikawa takes a sip of the carton. His nose wrinkles in distaste. Oikawa wishes he had some milk bread to eat with the thing.

Kageyama’s ears redden from a mixture of anger, cold, and embarrassment, his face spasming into complicated expressions.

Oikawa heaves himself up from the bench, tucking his green tea into the crook of his arm and working away at the half full milk carton instead. “Good night, Tobio-chan,” he says cheerily, and walks away, steps suspiciously light for someone whose body was sore all over.

 

 

 

 

 

**Me (11:47 PM)**

there. i did it. i apologized. he wasnt that bad. you were right.

 

**tetsu-chan (11:55 PM)**

i, kuroo tetsurou, was right? what a shocker

good job on sucking up your pride i know that’s hard since it’s the size of the ocean pfft

but are you sure you didn’t fuck something up buddy

cos kenma said that hinata said that kageyama is just sitting in his room and glaring at the wall

 

**Me (11:56 PM)**

it’s okay i think hes just angry like that

like all i did was take his milk carton. it was half empty anyways

also he could easily buy a new one. he was standing right next to a vending machine. ta da a milk dispenser

 

**tetsu-chan (11:56 PM)**

are you sure that’s it bc the reaction is a bit much

and knowing you you probably did something Extra™

hold on he really likes milk tho. what if there’s a backstory we haven’t known about and you just did something sacrilegious

 

**Me (11:58 PM)**

what if hes poor and that was all he had to eat the entire day

now that i think about it we were playing volleyball and he didnt eat any of his lunch and kept playing even though sunshine brought rice balls

i just assumed he didnt like them or something but what if he just didnt want to owe somebody????

 

**tetsu-chan (12:00 AM)**

i don’t think so his family is pretty average

and is sunshine hinata lmao

you played volleyball with him that long? you’re at first base with him already maybe he was just shy

although there’s also a genuine chance that he was too into the ball to stop eating :3c

 

**Me (12:01 AM)**

Im Blocking You Furry Fucker

if that was first base im pretty sure hes at first base with all of his teammates already

also tobio-chan??? shy??? for sure

 

**tetsu-chan (12:02 AM)**

bro i’m hurt is this all our friendship means to you

you’re right shy is kind of a stretch even for a joke he’s pretty forward with his intentions

so anyway are you cool now? you gonna meet with him more? confess your undying love? you gotta buy him a milk box back at the very least

 

**Me (12:03 AM)**

what happened to being boyfriends are you trying to get rid of me that quickly fake af

 

**tetsu-chan (12:03 AM)**

i wouldn’t mind 

he’s cute in an angry kind of way if he’s the one you cheat on me with i won’t hold it against you lmao

and he’s already elevated to chan status i think you like him a fair bit

 

**Me (12:04 AM)**

are you insinuating something

i can never tell when youre being serious, is the thing

so im just gonna assume youre not and flush any and all thoughts of dating tobio-chan down the toilet

 

**tetsu-chan (12:05 AM)**

pay him back for the milk box

i didn’t raise you like this

 

**Me (12:05 AM)**

fine, _dad_

ill just give you the money for one (it's only like a hundred yen anyway) and just give it to chibi-chan whenever he comes to visit kenma and make him give it to tobio-chan done

 

**tetsu-chan (12:05 AM)**

did you just call me dad

 

**Me (12:06 AM)**

youre the one who brought up raising me im just going with it

 

**tetsu-chan (12:08 AM)**

_daddy_

 

**Me (12:08 AM)**

Good Bye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That night, as he settles into his sheets, Oikawa opens his contact book. With no small amount of satisfaction, he changes 'kageyama-kun' to 'tobio-chan.'
> 
> It feels like something is righted in the world.


End file.
